Red Door
by Princessintoe
Summary: An AU where Molly Hooper is an assassin and her next hit is none other than Mycroft Holmes.
1. Chapter 1

I forgot the most important part to this story! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! to LollypopGuild! This story would not be possible without her! Plus there will be more to come. No need to fret. It might just take some time.

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"Take a look, a little closer. Do you see that door over there, the big red one with the white frame leaning at a slightly more than awkward angle? That's it. That is how you get in," the old haggard whispered to me. His hand was still on my shoulder getting my nice coat filthy with his grimy fingers. Smiling politely, I ducked away from his grasp. Quickly nodding my head, I walked towards the door.

"But be careful! He doesn't like visitors. Especially ones of the female persuasion, dressed in Alexander McQueen." He chuckled and turned away. The man on the street with nothing to his name but a shopping cart and a couple of bags of trash, knew designers. I was truly impressed.

As I reached the door, my hesitation grew. Sometimes, I feel like it would be better if I knew some background on the hit. Yet, the job is the job. Ask questions later. Gently putting my forearm above the doorknob, I pushed at the door hoping that it would give in, but with no surprise it didn't budge. Knocking twice and waiting for someone to answer the door was my next best option. The door opened slightly and a Hispanic man leaned his head out. A cheshire like grin spread across my face and I winked. Pulling slightly on the doorknob I realize that this man wasn't going to let me in. My smile dropped and I went into "red" mode. Grabbing the doorknob, I twisted and pulled the door back . The man unfortunately came with the door. I pulled the man out and thrust my heel into his groin. As he tried to call out for help, I covered his mouth, grabbing for his chin. Feeling the familiar crack of the neck breaking I let him fall limp to the wet pavement.

My gun hitched a little on the inseam pocket of my coat. The barrell of the gun pushed the door open slightly. It had shut almost completley during the skirmish. Even though I was careful to make as little noise as possible, caution was still required. The click of my heels sounded across the black and white tile. Donovan always laughed at me because I would wear my fashion conscious items to a hit. She called my red pumps my "killer heels" because I used them to silence one particularly annoying client. I normally wasn't so boisterous in my style. My home is in my slacks and a warm jumper. But to keep up my identity there has to be a drastic change somewhere. And there was no way I was dying my hair.

Glancing around the corner, I saw the rooms black walls. No windows. Typical for a man high up in the business ladder. Especially SITCO . SITCO was an arms dealer who was easily sold to the highest bidder. Yet surprisingly only two men, heavily armed, stood watch at the door. A sinful smile spread across my face. This shouldn't be too difficult. Hiding my gun behind my back, I put on the sappiest face I could manage.

"Excuse me? I seem to have gotten a little lost. I'm looking for Mycroft Holmes?" With every word I took a step closer. By "Holmes" I had reached the first man. I pulled the gun out from behind my back and wrapped my left arm around the man's neck, hopping up onto his back. As the second man, stupidly, pulled the trigger and shot the man I was on, I quickly shot the shooter. Landing in a crouch over the man, I braced myself for an onslaught of more men. Quickly getting to my feet, I aimed my gun at the door as it opened.

"Hello, Miss Hooper. I have been expecting you." Mycroft Holmes said, twirling his umbrella over one hand. "Are you here to kill me?"

"I think you know the answer to the question, Mr. Holmes." I cocked my gun and aimed it straight at his forehead. As I was about to pull the trigger, another figure appeared. This man was tall with skin like alabaster. His neck stretched on forever and his eyes seemed to be reading into the very depths of my soul. The clear resemblance between the two could only mean one thing. Sherlock Holmes was standing across from me. The great consulting detective was walking my way before I could even register his movements.

His close vicinity had my reflexes being altered. He grabbed me by the wrists and thrust my hands up. Prematurely pulling the trigger, the gun released a silver bullet into the ceiling. I swung my elbow up and made purchase with his mouth. The crack of his teeth caused a shudder to run through my spine. He reached underneath my arm and twisted it back, forcing me to turn around with a cry of agony. Flush against his chest, I could feel my cheeks go up into a flame. I could feel his soft abs from underneath his dress shirt. Stepping in, I crushed my heel down onto his foot. He grunted but did not relinquish me from his hold.

"Your fancy little tricks won't work with me, Molly Hooper." He whispered into my ear. And with that I could feel the sharp sting of a needle entering my neck. The last thing i remembered was strong arms lifting me up as I fell into complete darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you! For all the reviews and follows! It means a lot. There will be more to come! :)

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Something pressed against my back as my brain stirred back to life. The first step in ASI training is to assess all injuries and inabilities. My hands were tied behind my back, my shoes were missing, I had a gag over my mouth, and there was a chain around my neck, connecting me to the wall. That last one was something new. Nobody had ever done that before. Although it was a rare being caught, innovation was always fun. And these men were no newbies in the protection/interrogation game.

I looked underneath my eyelashes for a split second to take stock of my surroundings. The room was completely black. No windows. A door in the right corner, diagonally across from me. The floor was dusty but firm, no carpet. I was in a solitary cell! The blasted Holmes brothers had put me in a solitary cell.

The binds behind me held strong. Thick rope. There's one thing the Holmes' got wrong. Rope was the easiest thing to get out of. Wiggling my hands together, I tested the strength of the tightness of the knot. Relatively good knot. Classic boy scouts. I flexed all my muscles in my forearms and hands and released them. The knots became a little looser but were still relatively tight. My wrists burned as I rubbed them together. Quickly flipping my hands inward, then outward, I released myself from my bonds. One problem was still left. The chain attaching my neck to the wall.

The chain was tight, almost cutting into my esophagus. How the hell am I supposed to get out of this? Running my hands along the chain, I found a padlock lying against the wall. It was at an awkward angle but if I could just reach the bobby pin I always kept in my hair…

The door opened, spreading light into the room. Quickly dislodging my fingers from my hair, I sat up straight, eyeing the younger of the Holmes wearily as he approached.

"Unfortunately, Miss Hooper," he whispered as he knelt down beside me, "We have taken precautions. Including removing the Bobbi pins from your hair, as well as your earrings." He reached up behind me and unlocked the chain from around my neck.

Taking the opportunity for escape, I shoved the heels of my hands into his chest, causing him to stumble backward on to his butt. Standing up, rather ungracefully, I ran for the door. As soon as i took one step out into freedom, a bullet whizzed by my nose. Jumping back into the room, I saw the gunmen at the end of the hallway.

"Did you really think it would be that easy?" Sherlock grunted as he got up from the floor. A thought registered in my brain. My t-shirt was tight enough and my face still registered a little bit of makeup. Straightening my back, I sauntered over to him.

"Please, let me go?" I almost whispered. As I got closer, I watched his eyes scan every nook and cranny of my body. Registering his confusion as I pushed my breasts out a little farther, I careened my elbow up into his nose. His head flew to the side, giving me enough time to grab the gun resting between his belt and pants. The click of the safety unlocking, brought his attention back to me.

"Okay, Mr. Holmes. This is how it's gonna happen. Give me your handcuffs," He proceeded to hand me the handcuffs. "Now… Handcuff yourself to me. We will walk out of here as if nothing has changed. If any questions arise you will tell them that your brother wants me. Understood?"

When he didn't respond, I took his hand and swiftly handcuffed him to me. Crossing my arms, I hid the gun underneath my arm. However, it still pointed at his ribs. Not a deadly shot, but one that would hurt nonetheless. Nudging the tip of my barrel into his ribs, we began to walk forward.

As we exited the solitary cell, the guards aimed at me. Sherlock held up his hand, waiving them off, "Mycroft wants her."

Hiding my smile with a cough, I nudged him towards the door. He opened it and steeped across the threshold to what seemed like endless stairs.

"Brilliant plan," he whispered. Rolling my eyes, I began the long trudge down the stairs. My cell must have been close to the twenty fifth floor. Somewhere along the twelfth floor, the gunmen entered the hallway. We both looked up to see them aiming their guns at us. _Shit,_ I thought. Picking up our pace, we began to run down the stairs.

Bullets ricocheted off the walls and steps. One bounced off the handrail and dug itself into my thigh. Yelping in shock, I nearly tripped down the last flight of stairs. Shooting my gun up the steps a few times, we exited the building. The voice in my head was screaming for me to stop moving and assess my injury, but we had to keep moving.

We walked over a couple of blocks before there was no way I could move anymore. Nudging myself in-between a trashcan and a gum-ridden brick wall, I collapsed. Sherlock had to bend down to keep the cuffs from slicing our wrists open.

Pressing my hand down onto the wound, black began to cloud my vision. Closing my eyes, I gritted my teeth. Suddenly something was placed onto my leg, pressing down hard. I opened my eyes and saw Sherlock pressing his scarf onto my legs.

"What the hell are you doing?" my voice barely above a whisper. He met my eyes and whispered three beautiful words.

"Saving your life."


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you to all the reviews, follows and favorites. It really means a lot. I wonder if y'all can guess the new character that is about to be introduced. It's pretty easy... Anyways keep reviewing, following, and favoriting! Shout out to **Guest, 1bluesapphire, IA, Classified Case and TheEnchantedRose.**

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"Why would you wanna do that?" I said a little harsher than necessary. My head began to slowly nod off, drowsiness overcoming my body.

"Because, Molly Hooper, I need you." A sudden burst of energy came through my body and I shot my head up to look at Sherlock. Our eyes locked for a second. And for that second I could see his whole life. He leaned forward, bringing his forehead to lean on mine. Our breath mingled and his eyes closed.

"What do you need?' I whispered under my breath. Our noses touched and our eyelashes shared a kiss. He didn't answer me, so I asked again, "What do you need?" His mouth quirked up into a smile and his lips hesitantly touched my. Then they grew bolder, pushing harder against mine. Sherlock Holmes was kissing me. Wait… Sherlock Holmes was kissing me? I reached up and pushed him back, smacking him across the face.

"Oh Sherlock… Did you think I wouldn't notice your wandering hands? The key is someplace you would never touch on a first snog." I stood up, forgetting about the pain in my leg long enough to lean back onto the filthy wall. Crossing my arms, I tried to control the bile that was slowly making its way to my mouth. Sherlock's eyes grew wide as he watched me. He grabbed my arm and pulled me forward, away from the wall.

"We need to get you to a hospital. You have lost about 1.4 pints of blood. Any more you will surely pass out. Let's go." He took his coat of and wrapped it around my shoulders. Only then did I notice I was shivering. He picked me up princess style, wary of my injured leg. Deciding it wasn't worth the struggle, I let him carry me a couple of blocks, before I spoke up.

"There is not another hospital for at least a mile. How do you think we're going to get a cab when my leg is bleeding and your scarf and hands are covered with blood? And I have a guy. Give me your phone and I will call him to get us a cab." He had to set me down in order to grab his phone from his coat, and the pain shot up to the top of my head. I almost collapsed before he got his phone out.

"Just tell me the number and I'll ring him." I gave him the number and leaned heavily against his side. As he put the phone to his ear and waited. When the other person on the phone answered, I could see Sherlock's eyes widen with surprise. He thought it was going to be a girl.

"Hm… No I uhm have Miss Molly Hooper with me and she was shot in the leg about forty five minutes ago. Yes, just above the femoral artery. Yes she has lost about two pints… And is currently passing out in my arms. We are at 221 Baker Street. Pick us up now."

My brain slowly began to slip away from me, leaving me barely conscious. Leaning more on to Sherlock, I realized my eyes were slowly closing and that I was passing out. I hope the good doctor gets here soon.


	4. Chapter 4

Finally a new chapter! Wow it has been quite a long time. I will definitely try to post more chapters sooner. Thank-you for all the R&R's! Please keep continuing with them!

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The moment my mind cleared and I could feel my fingers again, I sat up. I swung my feet over the side, eliciting a grunt from the back of my throat. _Where am I? _The searing pain that originated from my right thigh, brought my awareness back to the situation. I'd been shot, Sherlock Holmes was there, and now I was at…

"Molly! You're up!" Doctor John Watson half-yelled from the doorway. The smile that tried to cross my face, slowly turned into a grimace.

"Whoa there Molly. You need to rest. You've been knocked out for the past fourteen hours." John ran over, hobbling and everything, and laid me back down.

"How's the limp, John?" I grunted as he lifted my leg back onto the table. He smiled down at me, when another voice stated from the door, "Psychosomatic, I am afraid."

John's eyes rolled and he continued to feel my leg around the entry wound, "No it's not, Sherlock. I told you I was wounded in Afghanistan…"

"Yes in the shoulder," he said, "but you didn't tell me you were in Afghanistan, I deduced it. And you know very well it's a psychosomatic limp, as Molly and your therapist keep telling you. And Molly I'm afraid you have completely ruined my scarf."

The pain of John prodding my leg drew me away from the beautiful voice. John kept looking from me to Sherlock, making me wonder how much of the escape tale Sherlock had told the army doctor.

Almost as if he had read my mind, Sherlock spoke up. "Don't worry, I only told him the necessary information for him to treat you as soon as possible and in the best way possible."

Catching John's questionable look as I rolled my eyes, I remembered the kiss. How his lips fit perfectly to mine and how his breath seemed to linger even after he was feet away from me. How his hands felt as they touched me through my clothes, leaving a trail of heat.

John must have noticed my heart rate changing, and looked between me and Sherlock. His eyebrows shot up and he let go of my wrist. As he was gathering his things, and tucking the blanket back around my legs I heard him whisper, "Maybe I shouldn't have taken the handcuffs off."

Reaching behind me, I grabbed the nearest item, which happened to be said handcuffs, and threw them at John's retreating form. The blush creeping up to my face made me turn my head from Sherlock.

A minute or two passed before either of us made a sound. The sound of the door frame creaking, alerted me to Sherlock leaving his post. He took his time reaching the side of my bed. Hesitantly I turned my head to him, attempting to acknowledge his very close presence.

"Molly Hooper," He whispered as he leaned towards my face, "I need your assistance."


End file.
